Sunday, February 21, 2010

back from the movies, late at night

You know that scene, you've seen it in the movies and you've read it in the books, where the leading man has a flashback of his dead lover? And the flashback is about bleach-blond beaches and white, glaring suns and stiflingly blue skies and there's so much light which I guess is a cheap symbolism for love?

I never had such flashbacks.

No matter how hard I tried to capture the moments, no matter how hard I tried to bring up the past, I had no such memories. My flashbacks were blasts, screams of blame. They made me feel no warmth, just a cold, bleak sense of dread.

Sure, I believe in love. I just acn't believe that love can exist in terms of reality. It's something you make up when you're lying in bed at night, hug a pillow and try to convince yourself it's someone else's body (or, hugging someone and trying to convince yourself it's just a pillow, guess it works both ways). Or it's someone you make up from little bits and pieces you see and you like: a mouth releasing smoke, a pair of eyes, a body of your liking, a cute little ass. I'm afraid true love is about safety, a primal reaction to a primal fear.

I'm afraid I was never much of a loving person. Unless love was in someway linked to mortality and death. Which brings me to my next question...